A man hangs his hat in that corner
where once we slept together
an ignorant or discontent foreigner
to our dislocated nether.
No one knows what happened
to the images our jury pardoned.
It was not always rainy when you came.
There were moments, tucked into our night
we found shelter in our tender shame
knowing neither would ever fight
for all the stories Donne read within
that little corner of our skin.
No one forgets—
not even the man, uncapped, in grey
strolling through space time bid offset
frustrated and sweating through the summer decay
praying for the breath that weaves
through the door, but out the window leaves.
It’s never enough to walk the walk.
The walk springs heels
heels spring teeth
and the subtle lines–
grace and poise–
they sink their teeth into the eyes
spun in lies routinely filed
for the heart:
flesh always leads astray.
Flames of her passing
stream the silence between
breathless twines of human grace,
the air, her plane–the smooth fall
among the flesh,
a look to pin the longing touch,
thirst for the flight they cannot share.
Merely human, cries the hush
of lights along her occupation–
no remedy for the pale drip
her candle set upon the choir.
Night lies in the dismount.
Where you touched me–silk,
the milk of our desire,
yoked yearning from the ilk:
heart–they called it fire–
the infinity of which might host
ashen fractions of the passion, sired
by a touch, a look unseen by most
unbound by sea or land–
the knowing when I sleep
you breathe beside this silent hand,
and I am no stranger, too far, too deep.
Tomorrow, a more fantastical post. Today, a short dose of the poetic:
Rose petals drift
perilous bedside seas–
her breathless touch.
Night gown nonsense–
heat beckons through wood and wind
wild by moonlight.
Note: Don’t forget to check out my guest blog appearance on Jessica Kristie’s “Inspiring Ink” segment today! I may be talking fantastic tomorrow, but today, I’m delving into the imagination…
Dawn-lit lovers tell of Indian summers,
the name and shape of which are lost
to caresses of cabaret visions,
the Auburn night that host
the look that chains that sky unto the post
between grains of fleshed collusion–
she sings still in toast,
to the figure of our delusion.
Regurgitated lives lie between us
gray puddles reflecting
reticent ripples rearing
wanderlust eyes, consumed in flesh.
* Busy week indeed – my first attempt at poetry since the book hit e-reader publication last week. Since then, of course, things have only gotten more hectic. Launched a Facebook page for proper social media marketing, the book’s now hit print, and we’re waiting on reviewers from across the board. Between all that, the mind’s been quite boggled, and it’s been a challenge to find time just to sit down and write, let alone to give the mind over to the purely poetic. Thankfully, camping this weekend helped retrieve a bit of my sanity, and garnered more than a few pages of new writing.
Darker piece this week, and shorter, to be sure, but I hope you enjoy all the same. As ever – critiques and comments welcome!
* A work in progress – critique welcome!
Broad strokes, bedside
broached the topic of
through bygone whispers
renovated in bravado,
battered with the blue breeze
bloody braggarts call carnal bastardization.
An immigration of conscience
instituted something like incontinence.
Winged Aphrodite pulled hormones
through the shaft of her soul,
but ringed Bast barred in gold;
lovers circled bane and bust,
but the band bonded true—
like a shadow, lust, pulled
through the needle of love’s eye.
It is dew I drink
Mere drops of her spirit fall
Yet it is all world.
Breathing in, breathing
Life like summer rain falling
into heart’s desire.